“The Soul Has No Morality We do not hear the hooves, Although they grow louder, hourly, And the hooves are magnificent, Snooty and vain! And the carriage is black and stately. The soul has no morality. It is waiting, fidgety with hope. It is too abstract to escape, And not clever at all. It is no Houdini. The train takes its time. At each stop there are mourners Weeping and waving. The soul does not weep, It has no sense of what is proper. The soul is not even near the train! On another galaxy it listens to horns. It whirls on pins. It is clapping Restless hands. It is singing 'Blue Moon' off key.”
Book:Visiting Rites